Yes, it's a little blurry and there's a glare, but I'm tired. This image does not do the lady in the drawing justice (formerly the lady in my hallway), a Christmas present from my mother. The lady simply HAD to relocate to the luscious new digs. Here's the entire wall:
Can you even? I know I can't. What can I say? LOVE. But it's been a bit of a bitch getting here what with me having to contend with a hefty set of plantation blinds pretty seriously interfering with me hanging those yummy watered silk pinstriped drapes. In the end, it would take screws, nails, and all the powers of the Bosch 10.8 volt Litheon i-Driver with Quick-Change Chuck along with the VERY LIBERAL application of four-letter words to get them exactly where I wanted them (they just graze the floor...BY. GOD.). The other piece of art many Paducahans may recall as a pulled print etching of the Texaco by former Lowertown artist Mark Barone. Near as I can figure, the only thing missing in this bedroom of artistic wonders is one of Nikki May's latest works of ladies sketched in her antique book.
Much has been made over at Facebook about the ceiling fixture in this room; a hideous thing that I've taken to calling the boob light:
Yes. MUST go. This newly sophisticated space simply cannot BEAR the now highly offensive stench of the boob light much longer. I found the perfect fixture at IKEA which, naturally, isn't available except in-store (the closest to me of which is in Chicago or Cincinatti). I may settle for this which is much like the IKEA fixture:
Obviously, the fixture is less about style than the need to better light the art in the room but even as utilitarian as it is, it is a huge step up from the boob light.
Also, today's special design find, a tiny (!) lamp from Pier One:
I had to have two, of course, to light my dresser.
Otherwise, Tallulah, for one, is very happy in the newly evolved space. You see her below in a photo I snapped from my blackberry this morning She is settled in to my favorite spot in the bed all ready for another long day of observing me going about my labors. It's exhausting for her, you know. Really.